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Evolving was something I needed to do.

If I was serious about moving to LA, about living in Venice Beach, about focusing on art, then I had to put my money where my mouth was. The art that was driving me west wasn’t just about drawing or painting—it was acting.

I wanted to explore storytelling, to step into new worlds, to express myself in ways I’d never tried before. The problem was, I didn’t know shit about acting—what it took or how to break into it.

So, I did what I always did when I didn’t know how to make a move—I found someone who did.

 

That someone was Carl. He’d just moved back to Louisville from LA and was looking for actors to debut his new play at Actors Theatre’s black box. I didn’t know what the fuck I was getting into, but that’s never stopped me before.

It was warm outside, that kind of muggy Kentucky heat that sticks to your skin. The Highlands was buzzing - people walking, talking, living. The vibe was electric, and it made me feel alive. Day’s Coffee on Bardstown Road was up ahead, and I felt my pulse picking up speed.

What the hell am I doing?

I didn’t know theatre. Never tried out for plays. Never even thought about it growing up. I was a baseball player—that’s what I did. Art and acting always felt like a different world, one that made me feel at peace, but I never let myself step into it.

Part of me was afraid of what my dad would think. Like if I swapped sports for theatre, it’d make me soft. I guess I was always looking for his validation, trying to prove I wasn’t weak.

But here I was. Front door of Day’s Coffee.

 

I walk inside, eyes scanning the room, looking for someone who looks like they’re looking for me.

A guy from the patio stands up and waves—shorter than me, scruffy beard, Star Trek shirt, jeans, and a warm smile.

“Hey! Are you Eric?” he says, hand outstretched.

“Yep,” I say, trying to sound confident.

“Let’s go outside. I got a table.”

We step out, settle in, make small talk. I’m careful not to mention the hustle, redirecting when the topic gets too close. Carl pulls a sheet of paper from his backpack.

“Okay,” he says, “I figured we could do a cold read here with one of the scenes. Is that okay?”

I nod. Sure. Whatever that means.

He notices my confusion and asks, “Have you ever done a cold read?”

“No,” I admit. “I don’t know what that even means.”

Carl doesn’t miss a beat. “No worries. It just means you read through the part without having practiced it. I want to see how you handle it on the spot.”

He hands me the page and points to the part I’m reading. “Your character is part of a church, in love with your wife, and you both play a vital role in the congregation. But secretly, you seduce younger gay people, kidnap them, and bring them back to the church for conversion therapy.”

I’m sitting there like, what the actual fuck?

Nervous. Excited. Confused. It’s twisted and dark, and I’m thinking, damn, this is heavy. But there’s something thrilling about it too.

Carl grins. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The coffee shop noise fades out, and it’s just me and the words on the page. I take a breath and start reading. The words feel awkward, but I push through, trying to connect with the intensity.

 

When I’m done, Carl nods, clearly impressed.

“You got it,” he says. “That’s the energy I’m looking for.”

I just sit there, letting that sink in. My first acting gig—a role in The Time I Was Kidnapped By The Church.

Carl starts talking about rehearsals and schedules, and I feel this weird blend of pride and fear—like I just crossed a line I didn’t even know existed.

Right then, my phone rings. I glance down, recognize the number—a sale I need to make.

Reality pulls me back. The life I’m trying to grow into and the life I’m trying to grow out of clash in that one moment.

And I just sit there, caught between worlds.